Interlude
by RansomRose77
Summary: Sometimes you just gotta have a one-shot. This one's been brewing forever. Let's all remember Nick is a Christlike character. You don't find many guys like that in real life. This is rated M for a reason. It also fits neatly in as an alternate chapter to my other story, Another When. If you want to read it that way, just put it directly after Chapter Two.


That night they crawled into the loft over top an adjacent barn. It looked more inviting than the broken and haunted looking farm house. The loft was empty if very dusty. Only some debris from the torn off shingles littered a corner. Here and there, patches of starlight could be made out between the rafters.

Nick spread his sleeping bags as far back from the edge as he could without backing under the eaves where spiders might be more prevalent. He was used to sleeping in similar spaces, having traveled and worked his way across much of the Midwest and South. He blended in with the other migrants most of the time: young, swarthy, his silence sometimes mistaken merely for sullenness. He looked at the girl with one eyebrow quirked and wondered if she'd turn up her nose, as she'd turned her face away from him only an hour before. She surprised him by unshouldering her pack and plopping her bedroll down beside his. She didn't sneer and there was none of the expected derision in her eyes, only weariness as she hunkered down beside him.

Nick kicked off his shoes and rolled his sweatshirt under his head for a pillow. He watched her do the same and then lay on her side facing him. She bit her lip. Moonlight slanted in through the chinks in the roof overhead, making cobwebs of silver over her hair. She smiled wanly. "I haven't camped out since my Dad died." Nick watched her lips move carefully in the dim light. "I slept in another barn the first night in Texas. But really that was near morning, because I rode all night after getting out of the city." Her nose wrinkled. "Funny, it never seemed like camping till tonight. Probably because of your company."

Nick smiled crookedly. He wanted to reach across the foot or so of space between them and touch her again, but remembering how she broke that first kiss, the shocked expression on her face, the tension in her shoulders …

"Goodnight," Meg whispered. "You're good company, Nick." She closed her eyes.

He thought of Jane Baker, telling him he was good to talk to. And that other woman three years ago who'd told him the same thing, standing in a sunlit barn that smelled of horse manure and fresh hay and the sweet blue bells of Kentucky. He rolled on his back, throwing his arm over his eyes, and wondered how he'd sleep.

It must have been near 3:00 AM when her thrashing woke him. Meghan was turning and kicking restlessly, and he felt her elbow in his ribs as his eyes fluttered open. The barn was darker, though some stars were still visible. The moon must have set. He sat up and blinked. He could see Meg's back arched almost painfully up from the floor as she struggled against something in her sleep. Her brow was furrowed deeply and her mouth open wordlessly. He knew she must be moaning or perhaps screaming. For a moment he debated waking her, but then her foot lashed out at his shin and she turned to roll away from him. Thinking that if she went far enough she'd roll clear over the edge of the loft, he reached out and firmly gripped her shoulder, shaking her gently. She startled and bolted upright. Now he could see stark terror in her eyes, sweat sheening her brow, and he knew that she had screamed weakly in protest. She turned toward him, raising the arm he gripped as if to pull away and strike out, but now she recognized him in the darkness.

Her reaction startled him almost more than being woken in the dead of night by her nightmare could have. She threw her arms around him and lay her head on his shoulder. He could feel her heart pounding between them and the dampness of her hair. She stayed that way for perhaps five minutes while he slowly stroked her arm. Then, braver, he reached his arms around her back and held her. She slid closer, bridging the awkwardness, till she was nearly in his lap. And after several more moments, he felt her breath slow and her body calm. His left hand had found the small of her back and he made gentle trails there. His own breathing had gone shallow.

Meg raised her eyes. In the darkness, she could make out the darker shock of Nick's hair, his eyepatch, the chiseled line of his jaw. She wondered: Why was he still wearing that damn patch? Without thought, she reached up and brushed it off the top of his head. Nick caught his breath and blinked, but the darkness didn't bother that eye as the bright light did. She set it down near them and now her finger lightly traced his brow. Remembering how he'd kissed her beneath the falling stars, she raised her lips and gently pressed them to the tender skin just beneath his wounded eye. Now Nick sucked in his breath, unprepared for this advance, let alone for where her lips and fingers strayed next. How had she gone from some terrifying nightmare to this sweet romantic overture, considering how she's shunned his advance earlier?

But then it didn't matter. Her lips had found a scar on his cheekbone from Ray Booth's ring, and gently butterflied it. Now they lingered on his chin. She paused a few inches from his mouth, barely meeting his lips, but now her fingers had fallen to his chest. He'd ripped his shirt off before falling asleep, and was barely conscious of his bare chest until her lips bent to his breast, meeting the puckered red crescent just above his left nipple. Now he sucked in his breath sharply and grasped her hair. Meg looked up, startled a bit, and he wondered if she'd been in some sleepy somnambulistic state from which he would now rouse her.

But his eyes met hers, his hands on either side of her head, their mouths parted, and now she reached her right hand up and gently cradled his jaw and that was it. Her eyes were languid, her hair tousled wildly in the dark, her tank top the only meager fabric between them. He bent and plied his mouth over hers and this time he felt no resistance. Her lips parted and his tongue found its way in and he tasted her, ravished the inside of her mouth, sucking, biting softly, pulling her closer into him. After a moment she moved her own tongue in response, tangling with him, nipping back lightly with her lips, sucking at him. He felt his breath hitch and increase as the hardness in his boxers grew. Now his hand found her breast, full and bare beneath a thin layer of cotton, and he knew he couldn't stop if he tried. He rolled her nipple through the fabric beneath his thumb and was rewarded with her sigh against his neck. He reached down, finding the edge of her shirt and felt beneath that where the dip of her waist was. Her own hand covered his for a moment and he looked up and saw her eyes wide before she nodded and then he slid the top off and found both her breasts and she lay back beneath him finally and his mouth was now on her neck, licking and sucking and now her shoulder; he knew in the morning he'd have left his marks on her, but there was no one to see and who cared? She was letting him, and now he found one nipple with his mouth and her body shivered beneath him as he sucked and molded her full breasts together, then ministered to the other, pleased that she writhed and arched her back beneath him.

He latched his mouth over hers again, one hand in her hair and the other reaching for her hip. Again, Meg's hand found his and he paused, waiting for her to throw him off, but she didn't. Instead she lifted her hips as his fingers hitched beneath the waistband of her shorts and she wriggled beneath him as he pushed them down, finally kicking both shorts and panties to the side of their messed sleeping bags. Now she was naked beneath him and Nick thought, I'm going to have her, really, like I haven't had a woman … since Beth. His cock strained at the thought and he trailed his tongue slowly down Meg's throat, feeling her shiver again beneath him. Now he raised himself up on his knees and unbuckled his jeans. In one swift push and a kick they and his shorts were gone with hers and he sprawled over her. She was breathless, her eyes wide in the dark. He was panting heavily now, but he attacked her breast with his mouth again, at the same time reaching between her legs, which she had let fall open beneath him. He found the inside of her thigh, soft, and stroked upward till he reached her mound, just a small amount of hair there. He knew it would be ginger like her flaming curls, and that made him want to pump quick and hard but he stopped and stroked her slit with his knuckles. There was delicate, dainty skin there and he felt that she was wet, but also that her opening was small. He rubbed his thumb lightly over her hooded clit and was rewarded with her writhing her hips with him. Now, he thought. Then, no. Wait.

He waited, catching his breath, then trailed his tongue down her abdomen from her breasts, around her navel. He found the bone of her pelvis and kissed her there lightly at the pressure point and she almost clenched her legs but relaxed beneath him. Now he found her slit with his tongue and tasted the wetness there, salty and mysterious. He flicked his tongue lightly over her clit and was rewarded with her body spasming lightly beneath his. He sucked it, hood and all, rubbing her slit gently with his thumb. She tensed and then squirmed and finally she began to push against him, meeting his rhythm as he sucked and plied her with his tongue. He could feel her building and knew it. Now, he thought, and pulled himself quickly upright. He positioned his hard cock at her opening, dipping it slightly in and out of her moisture, rubbing lightly for a moment as she writhed against him, her hands going instinctively to his own hips. Now he pushed into her and for a moment was surprised. She was so tight; hard as he was he almost bent right out of her. He doubled back and pushed again more firmly, using his hand to guide his cock. Now he was inside her and he felt the resistance give way, but without thought he moved deeper and began pumping, his own desire overtaking him as he sought release. He was so hard and he hadn't had a woman in so long. With the events of the last few weeks, he hadn't even brought himself off; there hadn't been any opportunities and very little thought through all the tragedy and loss he'd seen. But God, he needed this …

Dimly, Nick realized that Meg's body had tensed completely beneath him, though her arms had gone about his waist and her gentle fingers found his back, now his shoulders, stroking, massaging him as he moved fast and hard. He tried grinding his hips a little, dipping his waist so that his pelvis would hit her sweet spot the same way Beth had liked all those years ago, but mainly he just felt the need to get himself off, powerfully. He drove his body into her small frame with tensed muscles and jaw, the sweat beading on his brow and along his back as he moved. One of her hands cradled the small of his back. One rested on his shoulder as she pressed her face into his neck. He felt wetness there, but didn't register it. When he came it was like an electrical charge swept through him and his body completely tensed, feeling everything drain away, his sore muscles wrung like a sponge. He relaxed, slumped his shoulders, breathing heavily. His chin touched her forehead and a bead of sweat dripped from his brow onto hers.

Now he looked down at her and even in the darkness he could see her eyes were shining. There were tears there, and now his brow furrowed. His penis was slowly going flaccid in between them and both their bodies were slick and clammy with his sweat. He cupped her cheek gently, cursing his muteness and deafness. Had she protested at the last moment and he hadn't heard her? He was sure he couldn't have misread her body language, moving against him, with him right up until … Like a slap he realized why he'd penetrated her with difficulty. Now he sat up like a bolt and she sat with him. He could see the weakness and uncertainty as she moved, pulling her sleeping bag up around her shoulders. He moved quickly in the dark, finding his discarded pants and the writing tab in his pocket. He slashed large, bold letters so she could see his writing.

"THIS WAS YOUR FIRST TIME?" he wrote, turning it for her.

She nodded, brushing her hair with her fingers. It was tangled around her shoulders and falling in her eyes like a mop. Nick shook his head, genuinely miserable. He felt a small pebble in his heart. "I'm sorry I didn't know," he wrote, wondering if he'd hurt her. It must have hurt enough to make her cry.

Meghan shook her head now, reaching for the pad, which she laid aside on their pile of clothes. She moved closer, seeking the comfort of his arms, the musky scent of his body she'd just grown used to. "It didn't hurt so much," she said, looking up at him clearly. "Just never thought it would happen so …" She sighed, losing her breath. "You made me feel good," she said, reaching for his hand.

Yeah, Nick thought, ruefully. He realized he'd done everything good up to that last bit, then he'd plowed her like a damn bull, shooting his load in a matter of moments. He was amazed to find the thought nearly roused him again.

Even more amazing, he looked down to see her grinning shyly. "It just felt so full," she said, at last, her cheeks burning red with the admission. "I didn't think I could take it anymore, and at the same time I wanted it so bad I could feel it coasting there with you. Now it feels kind of empty." She placed his hand over her abdomen. "Here," she said.

He rubbed her stomach gently and thought about it. No condoms. He hadn't even thought about them. Surely she wasn't on birth control. She was a virgin, he thought, remembering his own awkward and breathless first time, four summers ago. With Beth. In her husband – his boss's – brightly lit bedroom.

She was a virgin, he thought again, and on the heels of that: what if I made her pregnant? He closed his eyes. When he opened them her own eyes were wide and questioning, her lips parted slightly, swollen with kisses. He found them again, this time gently. He licked them, sucked tenderly. His hand stroked lower and burrowed between her thighs; she parted them with only slight hesitation. He could feel the sticky slickness of his semen leaking from her, but he didn't care. He found her nub and slid his fingers over it like a V, gently moving them up and down, avoiding her slit, which might be tender or sore after his pummeling. He licked and sucked her lips gently and she moaned against his mouth, her back arching. Now he lay over her again as she lay back and trusted him to move her to her own orgasm. Minutes built and finally he felt her body tensing and pushing beneath him and she kissed him back passionately, her hand on his chest, her tongue lashing against his. He moved his fingers faster until she gasped and her body trembled with the release. He dipped his finger and felt more wetness, but now she reached for his hand and pulled it to her breast, holding it over her heart as the rhythm returned to normal.

"Okay," she whispered in the darkness. Propped on one elbow, Nick smiled. The heaviness he'd felt was gone. He lay his head down and threw his sleeping bag, now completely mussed and unzipped, over both of them as they lay nakedly on hers.

Meg cuddled against him, rubbing her nice little round rump contentedly into his groin, and Nick found himself thinking of Jane Baker as he closed his eyes, finally giving in to the exhaustion in his body. What had she told him, in those final moments of lucidity before the fever returned and claimed her? She and Big John Baker had spooned up in a tree on their honeymoon. Lake Pontchartrain: he could still see her lips dancing on that long word. And love … wasn't love what moved the world, allowed men and women to stand … Nick's hand had found Meghan's breast again. Her breasts were full and firm and young. Mrs. Baker's had been small and wasted and hollow as he undressed her … He pushed the grim and nasty thought from his mind stroking Meghan's warm skin and focusing on her. But this … this wasn't love … yet. Surely he, Nick Andros, that poor scrap who had been so very alone for so very long, who had lost the only few people to whom he had ever clung and yearned with love, lost them badly – surely he was not now thinking of falling in love. His mother's image came back to him, faint and haloed in his memory, like a sepia photograph, clutching him in her arms, holding his head against her bosom. Then Rudy: his large and warm and scarred hands cupping Nick's face as Meg had cupped his cheek and kissed his own scars.

And Beth, the bitter aftertaste of Beth, the betrayal of her honeyed words and honeyed lips as she turned her curvy back toward Nick – who had been, for two blissful summers, her lover – for the last time, not naked but standing in her kitchen apron and jeans. There was a long veranda in Kentucky, and Nick on the bottom step looked up and squinted in the sun at his former boss and cuckold – something Ken Ferguson surely never suspected – this man telling him now that there just wasn't any room on their crew. It was only April but he'd already hired his quota and just couldn't take the boy again this year.

The new hired man stood off in the yard, tanned and tall, his muscles fairly popping beneath his white shirt, older than Nick by a few years, and Nick guessed, perhaps a few miles too. And Beth just stood there, just beyond the screen door, daring _Nick_ to speak out against her. He'd looked down at his feet. He guessed he could read the layout of the land this time around. Beth wasn't welcoming him back as she had before with warm baked biscuits and southern pecan pie. There wouldn't be any of _that_, either. No raise coaxed from her husband to keep him on till fall, while her two small kids were away at camp. No rendezvous in the barn or her shaded bedroom while Mr. Ferguson took some horses to auction. There was a new kid in town, sure there was. And he was long gone.


End file.
